


ne obliviscaris

by Hillena



Series: winged [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Omegle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hillena/pseuds/Hillena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>unbeta'd because i'm lazy. im sorry. criticism is welcomed. if ever there are any.</p>
    </blockquote>





	ne obliviscaris

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd because i'm lazy. im sorry. criticism is welcomed. if ever there are any.

_Can't go on the school trip. Sorry._

Why not? SH

_Broke my leg._

Really. You love school trips. Last time, you broke your arm and you still came with. SH

_But my insurance won't cover any further injuries._

Then I'm not coming, too. SH

_No! I would feel bad if you didn't go because of me... You've been looking forward to the forensic museum._

I can go there in my spare time. May come over? SH

_If you want to. But I'm not much fun. Can't even get up._

It's fine. Is anyone else home? SH

_I'm still in hospital._

Damn, I can't use it there. SH

_Use what?_

Nothing. Almost there. SH

_It’s no drugs, Sherlock, is it?_

Of course it's not. If it was then I wouldn't have told you. SH

_Okay. What is it then?_

I'll show you when I'm there. SH

_All right. My room is 221._

 

—

  
Sherlock quietly strolled into the hospital, sneaking past the receptionist and every security guard in sight with his hands in his pockets. "John?" Sherlock called out as he opened his door, "You alright?" He asked, standing by his bed.

John gave Sherlock a wry smile. “Not really, no... My tibia is pretty shattered..." He sighed. “No running through London for some weeks." He paused, eyeing Sherlock. “So, what did you bring?"

"Trust me, okay?" Sherlock said hesitantly.

”Of course," John said but couldn't help a frown. What the hell was Sherlock up to?

He went up to the door and locked it. He went back over to John and unbuttoned his dress shirt, putting it over the chair beside John's bed. When Sherlock snapped his fingers, his pale wings were out in the open.

"Wow," John gasped. He had never suspected this. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating from the painkillers but his head feel clear. “Why do you show them to me now?" he finally asked, unable to take his eyes off them

Sherlock put a hand on John's broken leg, "Because I want to help you," he said. He left his hand there for a moment, looking for something in his mind palace. " _Servus_ ," He breathed. His eyes turned black, white smoke coming out of his lips, " _Dominus_ ," Red smoke this time. When he finished, his eyes went back to its normal state, and his wings were retracted. "Better?" He asked John.

John looked up at his friend in amazement. The pain was gone. “Did you heal it?" he whispered. He wanted to try to move the leg but was afraid her would do severe damage if Sherlock had just made the pain go away.

"Sort of," Sherlock said sheepishly, snapping his fingers and reaching for his shirt, "Your leg is healed but it'll take about an hour for it to take full effect."

”That’s way better than a month..." John muttered, carefully trailing his fingers along the splint. He bit his lips. “But what am I supposed to tell the doctors? Or my mom?"

 **“** They'll make an x-ray again, right? Tell them it wasn’t that severe, and you're fine to go home"

John doubted they were going to believe that but what other choice would they have? He cleared his throat. "May I ask what you are?"

"I used to be an angel, but I disobeyed the Father's orders," He shrugged, "So I've been exiled in the Middle as a fallen angel."

"Oh," John said. “What did your father tell you—“ He was cut off by a sudden pain shooting through his broken leg. He screamed as it seized his back as well.

"Crap, they found me," Sherlock grumbled. He took his hand and put one of his pale feathers. Sherlock held John's face between his hands, "John. John, listen to me. I put a feather in your hand. Put your hands in a prayer position under your chin, the thing I always do. Break it then say ‘ _ne obliviscaris_ ’." Sherlock stepped back, " _Aeternum_ ," He muttered before vanishing.

“What?" John asked but Sherlock was already gone. He intended to do as Sherlock had told him, but the feather felt like it was burning his fingers. He dropped it, helplessly curling into a ball. From his back there were growing wings. The feathers were black as night.

 

—

 

Well done, Sherlock. You just triggered a demon. MH

Yes, thank you for the patronizing words, brother dear. SH

You're welcome. Anyway this might be chance for you, little brother. I convinced daddy to take you back if you kill him. MH

I’drather not be taken back, thanks. SH

Of course you want that. You miss flying. MH

Yes, I do miss flying, very much so. SH

You could have it back. MH

If it means me murdering my best friend, then I don't want to fly again. SH

He's a demon, Sherlock. He'll start murdering among us very soon. Probably he'll even go after you. MH

I don't care. SH

Sherlock, he hates you now. It's in his genes. You are bound to kill each other. MH

You're my brother, Mycroft. I thought you were supposed to help me. SH

I do help you. My advice is to kill him now that he's not very strong. I guess your magic has caused his leg to still be pretty useless, so he might not have the advantage of flying yet. MH

I want to hit you right now. SH

Hit him. MH

 

—

 

_Sherlock, I don't understand what's happening to me._

John, do you still have the feather? Please tell me you do. SH

_No. But Sherlock, I have wings myself. And I'm in some sort of cave._

Fucking fuck. I'm coming for you. SH

_I don't know where I am._

_—_

Sherlock said a few words in Latin, saying ' _numquam_ ' to shield him from whatever there was in the cave John had landed in. "John?" Sherlock called out.

”Here,” John called back. He was shivering and his leg still hurt a lot. "I think my leg is still broken," he whispered, "I don't think I can walk."

The fallen angel quickly went over to John, plucking one of his feathers in the process. He put the feather in between John's hands, even though he knew it would burn him. Sherlock put his hands over John's like he would when he was thinking.

John winced. “It hurts! Make it stop!" He had been shouting the last words. “Make it stop!" His mind was racing with pain, his leg, his hands. Suddenly, he realized that it was Sherlock who had made his leg hurt that much by attempting to heal it. Without thinking about it, John got his hands free, ready to grab Sherlock around the neck and snap it.

"Fuck, John work with me!" Sherlock said, trying to fend him off. "I'm your best friend, listen to me!"

John stopped dead in his tracks at the word ‘friend’. What the hell had he been doing? Had he just tried to kill Sherlock? Repulsed by himself, he slowly moved away to the back of the cave. It was hard not to leap at Sherlock again, “What am I?" he whispered.

Sherlock plucked another feather. He was scared of telling John, "Just let me help you, okay?" He said, inching closer to John.

 **“** What am I?" John repeated. He winced as Sherlock came nearer, “Please. Stay away. I don't know if I can control myself."

"John, please listen to me," He pleaded, "Just listen to me and take the feather like I told you."

John scowled, “It burns me... Tell me what you're up to at least."

"I'm going to turn you back," _Or at least fend off the demon burning in you._

“Turn me back?" John asked. “Into what? Or better from what?"

Sherlock held the feather out to him, "I thought you trusted me," he said.

"I do." John reluctantly took the feather. As before it burned him. “Do it quickly," he muttered, the desire to kill Sherlock rose in his chest again.

“Don’t be stupid," A voice from the entrance made them both twitch.

"Good afternoon, uncle," Sherlock drawled. "And to what do I owe this pleasure," Sarcasm oozed from his lips.

The black winged man slowly strode down to them. “To yourself, as you have been so kind to find and trigger this little fellow," he said reaching for John's wings. He nodded approvingly. “Your brother asked me not to kill you, by the way."

The fallen angel rolled eyes, "Of course he did." Sherlock faced his uncle, "I have proposition for you, my dear uncle."

The demon arched an eyebrow. “Go ahead."

"You let Watson go," He swallowed the lump in his chest, "And trigger me instead."

"You?" The demon frowned then shook his head, “No. Your father would hold quite a grudge against me, if did. Furthermore,” he added studying his fingernails. “It’s not this easy. You need to born as demon. Triggering just set your powers free. And, no matter how much you h hate it. You are an angel, little nephew."

John gasped. “Demon? Is that what I am?"

Bratty kid it is, "Oh, c'mon, Uncle," Sherlock whined, "Can't you just turn him back?"

The demon scoffed. “Firstly, why would I do that? He seems to have potential to be quite useful. Secondly, I can't ' turn him back' all I could do is sealing his powers."

Sherlock crossed his arms, "Why did intelligence have to run in the family," He grumbled. Sherlock breathed an ' _obliviscar_ ' when Uncle wasn't looking, trying to help ease the demon out of John.

Sherlock's uncle scoffed again. “You never listened to what your father told you, did you?" he asked casually. “The poor spell work you're doing works for humans possessed by _d_ _æmons_."

Sherlock grumbled some more, "Stupid father with stupid pronunciation skills." He withdrew his wings and sat on a rock, sulking.

“You just didn't listen. And even if it was the same pronunciation, you should be able to tell the difference. Your little friend is as much a demon as you are an angel. You can’t run from your fate," He paused. “Neither can you run from me. But I'll give you one chance, which is only because I like how you annoy my brother. Go now, I won't kill you. Yet."

"One chance of what," Sherlock said quietly.

“One chance to get out of here alive," he said menacingly, his eyes turning as black as his wings. "Trust me, normally people trying to mess with my affairs aren't quite that fortunate."

Sherlock stood up and went over to his uncle, chest to chest while narrowing his eyes at him. He'd brought his knife with him. The one Mycroft gave him for emergencies if ever he'd been taken by his uncle. Which was accidental dried in holy oil (and he also he forgot that had happened) when he was experiment on ways how to fend off his uncle. "Really," He said, stabbing him over his chest (since his uncle's heart melted when he started this business).

The demon's eyes widened. “Stupid" was all he managed to say before he broke down, coughing. John didn't know what happened, only one his body acted against his will. He leaped forward, knocking Sherlock to the ground. Touching the angel burned him, but he still managed to seize his neck.

Sherlock managed to get a feather in between John's hands, even though it burned to touch him. He broke the feather, saying ' _ne_ _obliviscaris_ ' in the process. John's wings began to vanish, as well as the burns he acquired from touching him.

John's eyes widened. For a moment h hoped Sherlock had turned him back despite what the other had said but he still wasn't able to let go of Sherlock's throat.

He didn't want to hurt John, but he had to. He kicked John, sending him to the other side of the cave. He turned back to his uncle, removing the knife and lodging it where his heart used to be, twisting the knife for good measure. Sherlock started to drag the knife down to his uncle's stomach then back up to where he first stabbed him. When he finished, he sat back on the balls of his heels, panting. He watched as red fumes were coming out from the cuts Sherlock had made.

" _You are an idiot_ ," Mycroft scoffed. He strode to the cave slowly, hardly bothering to look at his dead uncle. “You successfully managed to make everyone want to kill you. But I guess you don't even know what you've done, as usual."

"What have I done now," Sherlock drawled with a roll of his eyes.

“First of all, you killed quite a powerful and important demon, which means other— more powerful—will come after you. Secondly, you successfully managed to make the sole goal of your little friend’s life killing you. Our uncle was his _alpha_. He _has_ to fulfil his orders. And the last one happens to be ripping your heart out." Mycroft focused his eyes on John shortly to enforce the invisible bounds holding him. “But besides that you've done a great job."

Sherlock withdrew his knife, quietly running the blade on his skin, "I never do anything right, don't I?" He laughed hollowly.

“You might manage to do so if you would listen to what other people tell you," Mycroft said. He looked at Sherlock's wounds, “Heal that."

"Why should I heal my wounds when I, apparently, don't listen to what people tell me?" He snapped his fingers, finding himself in the comfort of his room (not his old one in the above). He sat in the farthest corner, drawing his knees to his chest, quietly letting his tears make a damp spot on his trousers.

 

—

 

You know what? Do a proper job killing yourself this time. I don't care. MH

I will. SH

 

—

 

Mycroft sighed. He knew it was an empty threat or hoped so at least. He won't over to John carefully releasing him. He handed him a strip of paper with an address, “Fly there, they'll help you with your leg," he said softly. Then he simply vanished just as Sherlock.

 

—

 

 Sherlock made a jagged line down his arm, making it deeper on each cut, making him number at each drop of blood. He drew a rune on his hand and pressed his palm onto the wall, summoning a demon. Any demon, just to end his misery.

 

—

 

John didn't know how he got out of the cave. His leg was still broken, probably worse than it was before. He wondered how he should get into the air and fly. He heard the sound of water crashing onto the shore. He hopped there to find a cliff. Not knowing any better he leaned forward hoping his wings would know what to do. When he felt as though his surroundings faded, he suddenly hit a carpet.

Sherlock helped him up, "Kill me," He said bluntly, "Put me out of my misery and rip my heart out. I don't care how you do it as long as you kill me."

John blinked starring at Sherlock. “No," he gasped, backing away. His whole body ached as huge fought the order running in his blood. “Go," he whimpered. "Please," He didn't know how looking he could fight it; it felt like his insides being torn out.

 "Oh, c'mon!" Sherlock raised his hands in annoyance, "I can't do anything right and now I can't even make a demon rip me up!"

 John glared at him. “You could appreciate me trying to save you", the speaking made his attention slip though. He leaped forward, feeling his leg breaking even more. With all his will power he managed to change direction just before knocking Sherlock over. Instead he crashed into the window and... fell.

Sherlock quickly ran over, screaming his name and jumping in the process. He withdrew his wings. He knew his couldn't but there was a strong wind. Sherlock caught John just in time before he hit the ground, gliding over to the other side of the road.

They hit the ground hard still. John felt his wing getting between himself and the ground in an odd angle before it snapped. His leg was hurting so much now he couldn't even move it. He was thankful for it though as it slowed him. “Run," he shouted at Sherlock. “Please. I don't know how long I can fight it," Tears were running down his cheeks.

Sherlock pressed a frantic kiss to John's lips, cradling his head. Tears were running down his face as well. "I-I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said against his lips, stabbing him over his heart.

John eyes widened. He thought he had gotten used to things burning him by now but the holy water was of another quality. It ate him up. Therefore it was over quickly. A last painful breath and he lay still.

Mycroft, who had just appeared behind the two boys, slowly laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I know that took a lot for you," he whispered, watching Sherlock's wings turn from pale to brilliant white.

Sherlock flinched from Mycroft's hand. He let out a shuddering breath as he stood up, looking down at John's cold body.

Mycroft reached into his pocket, producing a lighter.”Shall I?"

Sherlock took out a box of matches. The one John gave him when he asked for a light, then first time they met. He lit a match, watching the matchstick burn _him_.

 In the end, his uncle did burn the heart out of him.

“Jim’s friends will come after you," Mycroft muttered, starring at the burning body.

"You needn't remind me, Myc," He quietly deadpanned.

Mycroft just nodded. He had always hoped for Sherlock that he would eventually become an angel again, but he felt his brother would cheerfully exchange his wings and powers to get his friend back.

No, caring was not an advantage.


End file.
